


Jungle Justice

by funeralfiona



Category: Superjail!
Genre: Gen, jungle au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:01:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funeralfiona/pseuds/funeralfiona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble featuring Future!Warden after his conquest to turn America in a prison state fails and his flag ship is shot down into the Mexican Jungle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jungle Justice

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to have more than one part but I became too overly critical of it to finish.

There were led up the path lined with staked torches flicking lazily as they struggled in the damp humidity. Black-clad men on all sides ushered them forward with sharp branch-fashioned spears digging into their sides and shoulders. The “Warden”, despite their sudden capture, seemed to already be waiting for them in predatory patience. While his cohorts stood shined by heavy sweat, the Warden seemed unperturbed by the dense, squeezing heat. From behind the tint of sunset orange and round-rimed sunglasses his stare was solid, almost statuesque with small irises in a Mr. Hyde-like intensity. He was leaning forward atop the cab of a truck, knees bent and apart with boots resting on the steel utility box. With elbows perched on his bent legs he eyed them passed folded hands as they approached . This jungle emperor in his Germanic uniform ala the First World War seemed entirely immune to jungle tragedy. From the black shine of his jackboots to the tip of his helmet not one speck of his person betrayed sweat, dirt, or fatigue—but perhaps it was only a trick of the Mexican twilight.

They were stopped, the two of them, at the open tail of the truck bed. The warden unfolded his arms, sat up straighter and presented his open palms in greeting with a wide grin—a black gap split the white of his teeth.

“Well, well, well~, welcome-welcome to my camp!” His brows rose as he dramatically looked to the canopy and hands clasped in swooning concern. “It’s so fortunate my men found you! To think, you all alone in those jungles, we might have never met!” Frozen in mid-melodrama his gaze slid, humorless, to stare into them again, that smile never leaving his face. “It must be destiny.”

And so, by some an awesome stretch of misunderstanding, they found themselves upside down, tied at the ankles, tall foliage tickling at their scalps, and pleading into the face of a short, one-eyed man who only laughed and spat over tobacco blackened teeth. They cried, a yelled, screamed and pleaded for appeal of their innocence. That they were on their honeymoon, on vacation…that they had money…that they just wanted to go home.

The gruff man laughed, rubbed at his Dali mustache and took a swig of suspiciously murky whiskey. Ignoring their cries he stood at languid attention as the forest parted for the arrival of the Warden. He was still angry.

“Stop with your lies!” The Warden barked at his prisoners. “I cannot believe I took you in, trusted you with my kindness!” He waved an accusing finger at them, giving aggressive pokes as he continued. “I give you leaves to sleep on and beans to eat and this is how you repay me?!” With the enunciation he produced a carefully wrapped but still slightly stale piece of vanilla cake.

“You planned to eat this without me, did you?!” His upper lip curled in disgust, baring the gapped overbite. The prisoners attempt in mutual hast to explain their purposes again, their marriage, their honeymoon, the romantic inclination to share wedding cake after a daring hike in the jungle, but the Warden turned in dramatic flair and hid his eyes.

“No! I won’t have any more of this! I will swallow my pain, eat this cake and think of what great minions you would have been!”

He left then with head low, mustache man following with the torch in one hand and bottle in the other. The two honeymooners shouted till the torch light shrank into the dense black of the forest. The rope creaked as they slowly swung to defeated stillness and  aghast silence. The rustle and chitter of the jungle was suddenly louder in the moonless buzz.


End file.
